De tout mon cœur merci
by sithmarauder
Summary: Austria plays the guitar. Prussia interrupts.


For the anon who requested: _pruaus: something about roddy chilling on his couch and playing acoustic guitar?_

You can find me (and/or request non-porn things) at my tumblr, _deadhabsburgs_. Honestly the title is just because I was listening to one of my Henry VIII playlists when I was posting this and I'm trash. Henry VIII may or may not have written _Helas madam_ , but it's generally attributed to him.

French titling only ever capitalises the first letter in the title, for those who are wondering.

* * *

 _Hélas, ma dame, de tout mon cœur merci.  
_ \- **Henry VIII**

The sound lacked fullness. Logically, he could understand why the whole world seemed to adore this seemingly insignificant instrument: it was portable, mainstream, and easy to learn. Musically, however, he could not. Yes, it was simple enough to pull at the strings and coax out melodies, but to Austria they just sounded resoundingly _empty_ , lacking the soothing lilts trills of the violin or the humming vibrations of the piano. The music composed for such an instrument also left much to be desired, and many evenings had found Austria awake, frowning at the guitar as the old classics failed to transfer over in a way that he was completely satisfied with.

Still, he kept at it, absently adjusting his fingers and allowing the melody from Mozart's fifth violin concerto to spill forth, transposing mentally where needed without a second thought. It was surprisingly pleasing, the result, and though the sound didn't fill the room or even properly distract and relax him like the piano did, it wasn't wholly unpleasant—though it would never compare to any of the greats.

"Only you would play such prissy old stuff on that thing," a new voice said, and Austria did not have to look up to know that Prussia had entered the room. He sighed, not even bothering to suppress the note of irritation that crept in, his fingers shifting on the neck of the instrument.

"You aren't even using your fingers!" Prussia exclaimed, and when Austria glanced up the other man's expression was one of acute disbelief. Uncaring, Austria returned his gaze to the guitar and the pick in his hand, his voice level and cool as he said, "Some of us do not actually believe using one's fingers makes one superior."

Prussia's response was a muttered "whatever," and for a moment Austria thought he'd left, as he oftentimes would've. He felt a vague stirring of surprise, therefore, when Prussia suddenly scoffed and flopped onto the couch next to him, his back to Austria's arm, knees resting on the armrest so that his legs dangled over the edge.

"Well keep playing," he demanded when Austria's hands stilled, and Austria frowned at the impetuous tone.

"I am not here to keep you amused and entertained, Prussia," he said crisply. "Besides that, I cannot play with you sprawling there like a child."

Prussia groaned, but to Austria's surprise he shifted, and Austria's arm was free to move once again. He picked up the melody where he had left off, letting an odd sort of peace descend over the room. He didn't look up at Prussia again, but occasionally he could feel the other man's eyes on him, a sensation he had long gotten used to. Once, those eyes had looked at him with nothing but anger and disdain, and he had gazed at Prussia with cool condescension in response. After centuries of warfare, wary looks of respect had appeared, and these days…

Well, Austria thought carefully, these days there was a mite else in Prussia's eyes, something soft and careful and bare that Austria hadn't the heart to bring up, not while Prussia would only clam up completely were Austria to even hint that he knew. No, it was best to wait, wait until Prussia worked through the centuries of self-denial and repression that had been ingrained into his person before he'd had the gall to invade Silesia, sparking hundreds of years of conflict that even now left lasting marks upon them.

He could feel Prussia's eyes on him, and if he looked up Austria thought he might have seen Prussia worrying his lip between his teeth before the expression of a hunted deer stole across his face, as had happened many times before. So instead he kept his eyes down, pretending he didn't see, pretending he didn't know. He kept playing, keeping their little truce alive. When Prussia was ready, he would speak.

Until then, Austria was content to wait.


End file.
